


predator-prey reversal & other secrets of the universe.

by lolitalynne



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Sexual Assault, Begging, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Minor Violence, Praise Kink, Protection, Slice of Life, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-24 16:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolitalynne/pseuds/lolitalynne
Summary: He's a lion--the predator--and Dwight a deer--the prey; but the deer will bring the lion, suffering, to his knees.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Ash Williams
Comments: 16
Kudos: 82





	1. the foraging cycle

**Author's Note:**

> YIKES. i'm back at it again with the dwight and ash content but this time with something completely different! adding the notes at the beginning rather than the end since it will be multiple chapters (hopefully short chapters rip) and i'm not gonna sit and do a ton of notes.
> 
> please be aware that the tags WILL CHANGE as the fic progresses. you can expect the usual from me, the porn and all that, but there will be a little bit of _attempted sexual assault_ so if you have a hard time with that, please be aware it'll come eventually. other than that i hope you nerds enjoy this dumb ass thing for what it is and i'm back on my ash/dwight bullshit.
> 
> find me on xbox (ACTUAL DWIGHT), ps4 (Antiochs), and on tumblr @ [oh-grabbin-fee](https://oh-grabbin-fee.tumblr.com/).

Friday nights are meant for drinking. They’re the best day to make terrible mistakes that impact tomorrow’s workday. Some people could afford to miss days due to hangovers; Ash is one of them. He is the king of bad decisions and work, frankly, doesn’t mean shit to him. When you’re this rich, did work really matter anymore? When you're surrounded, entertaining rich investors, there's no need to worry about even being seen in the office the next day. Appeal to them enough, show off how fun you are, and you're in. 

A series of fabulous investments when he was younger resulted in the millions he has now and the various companies he owns. Was this something Ash had really wanted to do? Nope, not at all. He hated the idea of running businesses and all the boring shit associated. He’d gone to college for engineering but absolutely did nothing with that after he hit it big in his forties. Typically unlucky, Ash constantly wondered just when this good fortune was going to run out. But, ten years later, he’s in his fifties and still making more money than he can keep up with despite how frivolous he is with it. That frivolity had lead to a bit of a rowdy party in a local bar to celebrate his latest earnings.

This is a life that he's definitely made for. Reveling in the attention, his ego consistently inflated, Ash is arrogant but still terribly cynical. Prior to his coming into money he’d hit rough patches and failures including the sudden death of his mother, the accident that left his girlfriend in a coma until her death, a falling out with his now ex-wife, and the fact that she hadn’t let him see their daughter for the last fifteen years. Ash had let his life fall into disarray for a while, turned to drinking, drugs, and gambling to top it all off. It was through that gambling that he’d managed to make all this money and turn things around. Not that he still doesn’t still have all those vices, he’s just able to do them better these days. 

Popping back shots, he flirts with the bartenders and provides generous tips. His companions are far more drunk than he is and he knows they’re about to be kicked out. He’s distanced himself a little bit, wants a beer to put on top of all the vodka, so he sits at the bar. The world is spinning slowly, things have a nice haze—he recognizes all these bartenders and they address him with familiarity. He feels almost bored tapping his fingers on the bar. A pretty girl with wavy blonde hair, he vaguely remembers her name starts with a K, takes her leave and is replaced by someone he doesn’t know. Immediately his interest is piqued. 

The man that comes through the doors is slender and soft. Clean-shaven, dark brown hair neatly swept up into an organized mess, his skin is pale like that of a porcelain doll. Idly, Ash wonders if the man ever goes in the sun. By the way he holds himself, he seems nervous, not at all ready for the kind of job he’s working. He doesn’t address anyone yet, so Ash takes the time to observe him some more. He’s wrapping an apron around his slim waist, fingers carefully tying a prefect little bow at the front. Blue eyes scan up from his hips to the shirt and waistcoat combination clinging to his torso. He rolls the sleeves of his pink shirt up to the elbow and buttons the cuffs to keep them there. Smoothing down his black waistcoat, the man finally takes a deep breath, and suddenly his demeanor changes to something just a bit more confident. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he surveys the bar and catches Ash’s unabashed staring. For a moment he says nothing until he approaches and offers a smile; it goes straight to his honey brown eyes and Ash is captivated for a brief moment.

"What can I get you?" he asks while taking the empty beer bottle and wiping down the ring off the bar. The older man quirks an eyebrow at how sweet his voice sounds, clearing his throat and straightening up.

"Just another," he responds, wallet ready to give this man the biggest tip he’s likely ever gotten for just serving a beer. It’s probably not the best way to start trying to get to know him, but Ash is used to just buying his way through things at this point. He’s beginning to forget that taking things for granted is a bad thing. Rejection has never been a consideration.

The bartender searches through the fridge and Ash is disappointed it’s underneath the bar instead of behind him because he really would have loved to get a better view of the kid’s ass. There’s a crack as he pops open the cap and sets it down, this time on a coaster. Twenty dollars is slid his way and suddenly he’s pausing, staring down at it, then back up at the man that gave it to him. Confusion passes over his face, a little bit of unease, and Ash loves the way it looks. 

"S-sorry but, sir, are you already drunk?" He asks and Ash laughs robustly, shaking his head. 

There’s a blush on the other’s face and his mouth waters at the sight. He really shouldn’t be thinking about seeing if that splash of red could travel to other places at the same intense rate. Ash’s sexual history is vast, he’s likely slept with most of the bartenders here, and adding one more to the list would be a personal conquest. It’s not honorable, but at this point he doesn’t really have much to lose. He waves his hand, "Just a tip for the cutest bartender here."

The man nearly chokes, eyes downcast immediately. Ash can see he doesn’t want to be rude and say anything, nor does he want to walk away from the conversation. His friends are being served by someone else so he’s got this one all to himself. Time to lay on the charm and be impressive.

"You don’t know who I am, do you?" He still hasn’t gotten the kid’s name, but he’s like a small animal; a fawn in the grasp of a hungry predator. Ash always got his catch, even if he had to sit and wait for it.

The man fidgets nervously, trying to make himself look busy as he messes with things behind the bar. "Uhm, sorry, I’m new. I just moved here." 

It’s almost too good to be true, he thinks. Not only is he adorable, in Ash’s humble opinion, but he has no idea what’s around here. He doesn’t know anything or anywhere to go, most likely, and thus Ash can offer to show him around, give recommendations, charm this kid until he can go in for the kill. Ash grins broadly, "Ashley J. Williams. I own a handful of businesses around here; that huge building on 33rd is my complex, if you know it."

There’s a moment of silence wherein the bartender looks towards the ceiling. He nods slowly and Ash can see realization dawning on him. "Oh," he says after a second. "You own the Necronomicon, right?"

Ash chuckles, "Among other things. It is the most popular, I’d say."

The club down the street with it’s darker flare was bought from the retiring owners about three years ago. Slightly rundown, Ash had fixed it up to appeal to the stranger sort of nightlife that this city had to offer. A bit macabre, it offered darker themed drinks and some strange rituals. He can’t imagine this kid having gone there, so he assumes that he just sees it all the time. In a way, his pride and joy, Ash was there often enough himself. Not just to check up and make sure things ran smoothly, but also to imbibe because it was one of the best places to spend the night getting high, if he did say so himself. 

"You ever been there, Bambi?"

The man is taken aback, pausing in his busy work. "My name’s Dwight."

Ash doesn’t quite like the sound of it, but it’s terribly dorky and kind of seems to fit. He shrugs and props his elbow on the bar, chin in his hand. "Can I call you Bambi?"

"Uh…" Dwight trails off a moment, licking his lips. "S-sure, I guess. Why though?"

Ash’s eyes narrow in cat-like amusement, a smirk making its way to his face. "You’re cute. A bit awkward, nervous," he starts and sees Dwight shift uncomfortably. "But those pretty brown eyes; you’re like a baby deer."

He can see the man swallow and clear his throat, "Thank you?"

Suddenly there’s a commotion behind him and he turns in time to see glasses shattering and his companions stumbling. The other bartender, a red-haired girl that he knew took absolutely no shit, and has no trouble calling him out on his bullshit either—as the daughter of the owner of this bar, she doesn’t have to. She stomps over, as intimidating as a five foot two woman can be, and slams her hand on the table. She puts herself between him and Dwight and points to his friends. "You better get your fuckheads outta here, Moneybags. Stop bothering my employees."

He just barely sees Dwight take hold of the back of her own waistcoat, breathing a sigh of relief. So, Ash can’t approach him this way, huh? He’s not used to this. He concedes, pushing back from the bar, whipping out a business card from his wallet before he tucks it back into his pants. Holding it between his fingers, he offers it to Dwight with a charismatic grin. 

"I know the city pretty well, call me sometime." The kid almost takes it, has his hand outstretched, but the redhead snatches it away and glares at him.

"Bye," she barks, green eyes narrowed sharply.

"Alright Red, I got it." Holding up both hands in defeat he chuckles. He turns to his group and whistles to them, rounding the drunkards up. The two bartenders watch him go, trailing stumbling men after him. He packs them all into chauffeur driven cars, a bunch of rich men going back to large penthouses to deal with hangovers in the morning. 

When they’re finally gone, she turns to glare at Dwight, waving her finger at him. "You’re not calling him."

Dwight’s laugh is sheepish and strained, "Got it. Can I get back to work now, Meg?"

She clucks her tongue, lightly smacking him upside the head; Dwight laughs, open and easy, and throws an arm around her shoulders. "Get off me and get back to work, _Bambi_."

Ash comes back the next day, this time alone, and wearing a three thousand dollar Armani suit; all crisp edges and sharp lines. It's just a detour on his way home. He learns Dwight’s schedule in a manner that could constitute stalking and heads in around the same time the man is meant to come in. Taking a seat at the bar, he’s glad to see that Meg is absent. Perfect. He can flirt, uninhibited, and not be interrupted. He likes to think that if Dwight wasn’t receptive at all, he’d stop, but he’s not sure he will.

When the man in question comes through the doors, he pauses as though he’s trapped in someone’s high beams. Ash grins at him and he hesitates approaching the bar. Dwight doesn’t say anything, not yet, and Ash gives him a modicum of space at first. Dwight goes about serving the other person at the bar before he moves on to Ash. He can play this slow; maybe not slow enough, but he can take his time here. The payout will be better if he does, he thinks.

"Nice to see you again, Bambi," he says after a moment, nonchalant.

Dwight clears his throat and nods, "What can I get you?"

Ash asks for a plain brand beer and watches Dwight perform the same routine as last night; popped open, set atop a coaster, all with delicate precision. Detail-oriented, meticulous, organized, likely easily stressed. Ash has to adjust his methods then. Straightening up, he takes the drink. 

"Sorry about last night." The bartender looks at him finally, blinking at him owlishly. He isn’t sorry at all, but this would make him look good. "I was a little drunk, I didn’t mean to be that aggressive." (He did, but he wasn’t going to admit that.)

Dwight seems to relax then, his shoulders dropping, stance growing more comfortable. He laughs softly, bites his lip after, and Ash is close to sweating. The need to see how kiss-bruised those lips can get is terribly overwhelming. However, that is assault, and Ash always gets consent. Won’t stop him from fantasizing at least. 

"Thanks, I appreciate that." So endearing that it hurts. "I’m trying to get used to handling that sort of thing."

Ash hums in thought as he takes a long swig of beer, "Surely you’ve been hit on before?"

"N-not really, no," Dwight falters at the admission, coughs awkwardly. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way that this kid hasn’t been fawned over before. Ash doesn’t even know him but already knows that he’s got the prettiest eyes, the softest features, and an innocence that oozes from him like a pheromone. He knew nothing about Dwight but did know that he’s just the type of guy that a ton of his friends would go for. Ash finds himself hoping that no one else has made a move yet; he’s claimed this one.

"There’s no way, Bambi. Look at how cute you are." An uncomfortable shift, he seems to close in on himself again. "Do you hate being complimented that much?"

He sighs softly and shakes his head; relieving to say the least. Now Ash just had to find the right compliments, the proper things to say in order to appeal. At least he isn’t lying, he does think Dwight is cute. He wouldn’t give him the time of day otherwise. That’s generally where his interest lay, however, and he’s not entirely interested in getting to know the kid so much. If that happens along the way that’s fine, but he’s not actively seeking that. What he wants is to rock this kid’s world just once.

"Let me apologize properly one day. Have you ever been to Necronomicon?" Dwight shakes his head as he starts wiping down a glass, casually looking Ash over. He pretends not to notice. "Let me take you there one night."

"That’s…not really my kind of scene."

"We’ve got private rooms in the back away from the club scene, just you and me having a drink," Ash can see that’s not entirely a deciding factor and that the idea appears to make Dwight a little uncomfortable. "C’mon Bambi, you’ll have fun."

Sighing in exasperation, he shakes his head, "I don’t know. Maybe one day."

Ash grins as he finishes his beer and whips out another twenty, "That’s not a no so I’ll take it." 

Standing, he tugs on his lapels to smooth out his jacket. From his pocket he produces another business card, this time he grabs the pen from the same pocket and jots down a number on the back. Meg isn’t here to protect him and that leaves the lion to stalk his prey. "Since the other one I gave you was stolen, here’s another. My cell number is on the back."

Swallowing thickly, Dwight reaches for it and Ash slowly moves back so that he has to lean forward to get it. After he takes it, Ash quickly drops his hands to the bartender’s collar under the guise of fixing his bowtie. They’re close enough that he can make out the amber of the other’s eyes and the dotting of freckles littered across his cheeks like stars. Dwight is frozen on the spot and Ash thinks he can almost feel the man’s heartbeat where his fingers "accidentally" brush his throat. The red of his blush spreads over those freckle-stars and Ash pats his shoulder, moving away. Dwight quickly recoils and holds the card to his chest like a teenage girl with a love note.

"Don’t let Little Red know," he says with a wink and a smile. Lightly tapping the bar, he gives a small salute with the same hand by way of a goodbye. "Call me when you’re ready, Bambi. I’ll see you later."

He gets a slightly weak goodbye from the other man and steps out into the fresh air. Ash can hear the music from his club down the block, muffled and barely discernable. All in all, he considers this a step in the right direction; he’s made an impact, that he’s already aware of. He’s moving slower than he’s ever had to before, but a part of him likes to think that Dwight will be worth it. For tonight, he sincerely hopes he left Dwight flustered and questioning.


	2. the sit-and-wait method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s beginning to think his likening Dwight to a baby deer is more appropriate than he’d initially intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for all you science nerds, i am indeed getting chapter titles from the steps of predation L O L also we've got a tentative 4 chapters here. might be more, but i think 4 is gonna be the magic number.
> 
> also, i haven't edited this. it's almost 7am and i haven't slept yet. yikes. will likely have to edit tags later but i'm too tired to do it rn. i don't think there's anything real intense i gotta tag. not yet, anyway uwu

In the weeks that follow, Ash visits the bar more frequently. He takes the time out of his night to go there any time he knows Dwight is working. When Meg is there he’s careful about what he does and how he acts. The nights she’s absent he does his best to continue appealing to the nervous bartender. Maybe it’s the chase that has him so invested. Normally, he wouldn’t work this hard for anyone, or this long, but he did so love to play games. This was just another game in the end. He’d win, as he always did, and move on to the next. Admittedly, he is have a lot of fun trying to get Dwight to open up little by little. He knows he’s getting somewhere when he finally starts getting easy smiles and gentle laughs that light up the man’s entire face. 

"Can I get your number yet, Bambi?" He asks one day, nursing some expensive beer that didn’t really taste like much of anything.

Dwight looks at him for a second. "I haven’t decided."

Ash sighs and pouts while Dwight gives an apologetic smile. He hasn’t gained that much trust yet then. Unfortunate. He gives up asking for now and tries to finish his beer while Dwight hums the song on the radio. The bar is silent, it’s still a little early for people to come pouring in and Ash came from after work as he usually did. This time he came alone, unlike many of the other times he was surrounded by people. One thing he’d say about being rich was that you gained a lot of fake friends and people that just wanted things from you. It’s fascinating to him that Dwight wants no part of it. How terribly pure and kind-hearted. He’s beginning to think his likening Dwight to a baby deer is more appropriate than he’d initially intended.

The millionaire taps his fingers on the bar, gaze drifting to some game playing on the TV above them. "Hey, how about doing a shot with me?"

Pausing, Dwight shakes his head, "I can’t."

Ash clucks his tongue. "Why not? Just one."

He seems uncomfortable suddenly, eyes downcast. He stops mixing up a drink briefly and the woman waiting on it leans against the bar. He clears his throat and finishes up, cherry going on top, and hands it to her with a smile that she echoes. She drops him a few dollars and turns to leave, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. Dwight doesn’t watch her go, but Ash does. Curvaceous and slender, a tight red dress and dangling earrings. His type, if he’s being honest, and if he weren’t working so hard on Dwight, he may have given up and gone after her or her friends instead. When he looks back towards the bartender Dwight is watching him, something unreadable in his expression. It confuses him. He leaves it alone for now.

"So, why no shot?"

Dwight lets out a slow breath, "I don’t drink anymore. Besides, I can’t do that on the job."

Ash snickers, "Little Red would kill you, huh?"

This time the other man laughs and leans against the bar himself, "She’s gets scary, doesn’t she?"

"For a girl that’s about five foot two, she’s definitely got the intimidation factor."

Biting his lip, Dwight chuckles, and Ash wants to capture the sound and bottle it for later. He’s smiling as Dwight starts to serve another patron, mixing a drink with artful precision. He makes a layered shot, a B-52, and Ash can’t help but watch his hands and how steady he has to be in order to do it. He never expected that this kid would be good at this, especially since he seemed so nervous at the start. Perhaps he was just growing. In some way, Ash feels proud. This city could chew people up and spit them out, he didn’t really want to see that happen to Dwight. He may have been in it for a good time, but this kid, he really did want him to survive here. A little voice in his head tells him that he should stop playing this game, but he silences it. 

When the man does his shot and takes the beers off to his girlfriend—or who Ash assumes that is waiting for him—he takes up Dwight’s attention again. "Why don’t you drink anymore?"

He sees Dwight’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. His body language reads it’s a painful reason and Ash almost takes the question back. Would Dwight tell him the truth? Surely he would, seeing as how he’s just genuinely good. He just has to wait patiently. 

"Last year, co-workers from my last job had a camping trip and invited me. They, uhm…" he trails off for a second and Ash is now regretting it; if he says something incredibly personal he might feel bad. Maybe. He’s not sure yet. "They got me drunk enough to black out, uhm, and then they left me there."

Ash wishes he knew why the story makes him angry. He’s done some scummy shit, but that is beyond shitty. Losing a little bit of compassion and optimism over the years was one thing and he doesn’t care about a lot of people in the world. However, there were certain lines you didn’t cross. Ash knew he wasn’t really a great person, but he’d never purposefully put someone in danger just for a joke. Which, he assumes this was all meant to be a joke. Dwight’s lucky he wasn’t killed, honestly. 

"Is that why you moved?" He asks, surprised that his tone is somber. Dwight nods slowly. Ash doesn’t have it in him to prod anymore so he falls silent for a second. Staying quite is, of course, impossible for him, so he perks up a beat later. "No drinks then, get coffee with me some time"

Dwight looks taken aback, but also grateful for the subject change. He doesn’t accept the offer, however. "Why are you trying so hard?"

The question is blunt, harsher than he’s anticipated. He’s been asking himself the same question but he can’t tell Dwight it’s because he’s looking forward to being able to win his favor. As well, he doesn’t want to admit that he’s gotten a bit more attached than he meant to. Playing people like this is unfair to everyone involved, but at this point he’s invested too much time in Dwight to back out. He needs to see it through, regardless of the outcome. Besides, he hasn’t gotten bored of the kid yet and that’s a good sign. He purses his lips, affects to look offended. 

"Is it really so hard to believe that someone wants to get to know you?"

He flinches. "Uh, yeah, but I meant why you, personally. You could spend your time on anyone and you choose a bartender with social anxiety and zero sex appeal."

Ash can’t stop his laugh and he knows it’s rude, but he finds the whole thing ridiculous. There’s no way that Dwight hasn’t been hit on, that people haven’t found his whole innocent thing alluring; that’s what drew Ash in. It’s more likely that he just hasn’t noticed it, or hasn’t given anyone a chance. Ash surmises quickly that he was an average child, possibly ignored or bullied to the point where his self-esteem has suffered. Plus his anxiety by his own admission, that really didn’t help. In the end, Ash isn’t sure why he’s trying so hard anymore, just that he’s come this far, he can’t stop now.

"Sorry, sorry, that was rude," he admonishes himself, fixing his tie as he smooths down his shirt. "The anxiety is easily overlooked, but I can guarantee you do not lack sex appeal."

He thinks Dwight now regrets the sip of water he was in the middle of taking because he almost chokes on it. Covering his mouth, he coughs, face turning slightly red from both strain and embarrassment. Ash is entirely too smug about it. He finds the modesty charming but, at the same time, he finds it upsetting. At some point in his life someone must have made Dwight believe he didn’t have anything to offer. Someone made him think he wasn't attractive, that no one wanted him.

Dwight doesn’t say anything, only coughs to clear his throat, so Ash continues, "I’ve already said I think you’re cute. Your pretty eyes, those little freckles, the way you bite your lip. All of it, cute." He can see Dwight is feeling sheepish and conflicted, maybe uncomfortable—seems to be a trend with him. He inappropriately changes the mood.

"Now turn around so I can admire your ass some more."

"Th-that’s sexual harassment!" Dwight squeaks, pressing the apron down against his thighs as if that was going to do anything to hide himself. Ash grins deviously while Dwight attempts to not turn around as he gets his work done. 

"Maybe. You didn’t hate it though, did you?" Ash doesn’t miss the way Dwight freezes for a second and clucks his tongue. 

After a beat he speaks, shyly, "I…didn’t."

Ash feels triumphant and his expression must read as such because Dwight shuffles. He acts as though the admission is something to be ashamed of rather than something meant to compliment him. There’s an awkward silence that follows, just the thinking of glasses, the dull rumble of chatter around them. More and more people are starting to come by and tonight was Dwight’s late night. Meg is due around in the next half hour and he’s not really interested in having her play guard dog for an adult man and thus cockblocking him in turn. Besides, he’ll leave Dwight with a series of compliments and hope that he takes them to heart and that they vibrate around his head for a while.

Standing, he sorts himself out and lays some bills out on the bar. He always tips more than he should, knows that it flusters Dwight, but he’s also tipping for the company. "Alright, Bambi, I’ve got an early morning so I gotta head out."

He does not expect Dwight’s hand to shoot out and grab his wrist when he pushes the money forward idly. Ash is taken aback, brows arched as he peers at the bartender. He wants to open his mouth and ask but suddenly the rational voice in his head tells him not to, that if he does then Dwight will likely trip all over himself. Even Dwight looks a bit startled and he releases Ash after a second. 

"Hold on, I, uh…" he trails off as he grabs a napkin. Ash can see the flush rising on his face while he fumbles for a pen. Is he doing what Ash thinks he is? 

He watches carefully as the man scribbles something down, his handwriting charming but messy. He can barely meet Ash’s eyes, only glances up quickly, before holding out the napkin to him. He looks at it as he takes it, feigning surprise—as if he hadn’t known that Dwight was going to cave eventually. His number is scrawled along with his name and Ash does not miss the little heart that follows. Perhaps it’s an instinctual thing, something he’s done since childhood or his teenage years, or maybe it means something more. 

Ash can’t pin it down, but it _does_ something to him.

Instead of saying anything, he grins, obviously pleased. The napkin is folded with care, and tucked into his breast pocket. Keys jingle on his fingers as he prepares to leave, swinging them around nonchalantly. "You’re working through until closing, right?" Dwight doesn’t ask how he knows this, only nods his head. Ash hums to himself; that’s around five in the morning and he’ll be waking up around that time. He can continue to lay a good foundation. "I’ll be awake then, text me when you’re off. Need to know you’re getting home safely."

This time, Dwight rolls his eyes but it’s strangely affectionate. He follows it up with a soft sigh and cluck his tongue, there’s no malice behind it, only exasperation. Still, Ash likes to think that the kid is flattered in a way, that it makes him feel important someone’s looking out for him. No doubt Meg has him doing the same but that’s different, she’s apparently known him since they were kids. He’s learned a lot about Dwight in the time he’s spent talking to him and it’s odd that the kid is a fairly open book. Maybe he just doesn’t have anyone to talk to about anything, Meg surely knows it all by now. It leaves Ash wondering if he really has any friends. 

He’s made the perfect exit scenario, so he takes his leave then. "See ya, Bambi."

"Goodnight, Ash."

The sound of his name from Dwight’s lips should not have caused the visceral reaction that it did, but Ash hides it very well. In a way it feels reverent; gentle and kind in a way that Ash doesn’t really think he deserves. He almost feels guilty that he’s essentially leading Dwight on. However, the kid needed some fun, some experience, and Ash knows he’s good for both those things. Sure, that fun will eventually run out when they both get bored with one another, but undoubtedly they’ll enjoy it while it lasts. Besides, life isn’t really meant to be taken seriously; it’s too short not to enjoy as much as you can.

When he gets home and is finally in the penthouse of his complex, he looks out the windows and at the city below. It’s lit up still, despite the fact it’s midnight, and he can see his club and it’s neon purple sign. Ash falls into a abrupt monotony now that he’s alone. The same thing as every nightly routine, he merely goes on autopilot. There’s no pretty thing in his bed tonight, just himself, and he’ll ignore the fact that he can so easily see Dwight splayed out on his dark red sheets because he’s got a ways to go before that becomes a reality. In the privacy of his own home he’s allowed to feel the feel the effects of his age, as much as he doesn’t want to. Sleeping around, partying, continuing the recklessness of his youth is the only way he really knows how to cope.

With a shot of bourbon he heads to bed until his alarm wakes him five hours later. Tedious, that’s what this all feels like. For the most part his life is easy and maybe that’s the problem, it’s _too_ easy. He has to make appearances at meetings and the like, but for the most part his days are free. He doesn’t know how to fill the space, so he plays these games with everything around him. Groggily he peers down at his phone; there’s more than one message but none of them are from Dwight. He wonders why he feels disappointed. Regardless, he has to start his day.

Before work he stops by a café; smaller, not a big name, but a place he knew even before he was rich. They welcome him in happily and he chatters with the owners while they make him his usual. It’s about as busy as ever, especially with the weather growing colder, but still a comfortable sense of modesty. He’s milling around, idly watching people come and go, when he catches a familiar face dragging himself through the door. 

"Well, fancy meeting you here, Bambi," he muses. The brunette pauses, as though he’s shocked to see Ash outside of the bar, and Ash can see how ragged he looks. He worked at a bar a few times when he was going to college and it really isn’t an easy job when the nights were long. Plus, you had to be able to handle people, and Dwight wasn’t always the best at that. He looks exhausted, skin a little too pale, but he offers a tired smile anyway.

"I was going to text you after I got home."

The sincerity in which he says it is painful. It’s sweet and genuine and Ash thinks it’s adorable. He chuckles quietly and takes his coffee when it’s pushed over the counter to him. Dwight’s ordering is a bit sloppy, anxiety-ridden as he is, but he finds it so entirely in character that he wouldn’t drink coffee. Instead, he gets hot chocolate, and Ash has to stop himself from snickering. He whips out his card and insists on paying for Dwight’s as well. The man has a protest on his lips but it suddenly dies and he quietly thanks Ash.

"Well, you can just text me when you wake up later," he says in a way that doesn’t really leave any room for protest. Dwight blinks at him tiredly, cradling his drink in his hands, and Ash can see he does not have the willpower to fight it. 

"Sure," is his soft reply.

Ash has some time before he really has to get going, so he ushers Dwight over to a table and sits the man down. He probably shoudn’t be keeping Dwight awake, especially when he looks this tired, but he also thinks the kid needs a minute to relax. Dwight is thankful for it and he sips his hot chocolate slowly, the steam fogging up his glasses. There’s definitely something off with him and before Ash takes a sip of his own drink, he asks, "You alright?"

Dwight makes a noise and it’s like a whine, a complaint, as he slouches. "It was a rough night."

Ash nods. "Bartending isn’t an easy job, people are hard to deal with."

"Had to call the cops on some guys last night, they got too rough and loud. Handsy."

That makes Ash pause, eyes narrowing slightly. The idea, the notion in and of itself, of anyone putting their hands on Dwight in a way he didn’t consent to makes him angry. As many games as Ash liked to play, he always looked for consent beforehand, but he knew how shitty drunks could be. He knows it’s alright to feel upset, but he should absolutely not be feeling possessive. He has no right to be, Dwight isn’t his—yet. Dwight also isn’t property in the first place. He’s terribly conflicted.

"You should definitely go get some rest," Ash states, which he realizes sounds a bit more like a command than suggestion. "I still have some time before work, do you want me to drive you home?"

He likes the dreamy look on Dwight’s face, light and calm, as he shakes his head. "I’m alright, really. Thank you, though."

Ash notes there is no stutter, no awkwardness. Nothing about Dwight seems uncomfortable in his presence now. Unlike the first few times they met, even last night, Dwight had been clumsy with his words. This is easy, the whole flow and feel of it. He wants to see more of this Dwight, the man outside of work. Neither make a move to get up yet, Dwight staring out the window as if lost in thought.

"Ah," he starts and Ash hums his acknowledgment. "I know I said it’s not my scene but…does your invitation to Necronomicon still stand?"

"Of course it does," he answers, wears a charming smile.

Dwight fidgets a bit, "Then I’d like to go with you. You’re right, I need to relax, branch out."

"Text me later and we’ll figure out when."

Another nod, a smile, and Dwight shifts his chair out. While he looks a bit more at ease, Ash can see that he still has trouble making eye-contact. The man takes a small breath and lifts his gaze to Ash’s face; he meets Dwight’s eyes and holds his attention until Dwight can’t manage anymore. He grows bashful and looks at his drink again. "I will. Have a good day at work."

The comment is innocuous, but just like the little heart set beside his name on the napkin, it also does something to him.

Like a proper gentleman, he gets up as well and walks with Dwight to the door and onto the sidewalk. His car is waiting for him but Dwight is walking. He waves goodbye and heads the opposite direction from where Ash needs to go. He watches until Dwight is out of view and finally heads to work. A terribly boring day ahead, he’s sure. He doesn’t enjoy talking business with people, even if he does know what he’s talking about. He’s never considered himself a particularly smart man by way of common sense, but he can figure his way around social situations and, well, he did go to college for engineering. Business was far easier than that. So he suffers through his day until, around three in the afternoon, he gets a text.

He’s smiling at his phone before he realizes it, a pleasant warmth in his chest. When he finally notices he’s filled with a strange sense of guilt and foreboding. For the first time since he’s started this game of cat and mouse he feels like he’s doing something _wrong_.


	3. assessment of the cost and benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s going to need to take a while, sit and figure it out, but he has to do that away from Dwight, away from the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES! two chapters in one day. all i've been doing since i woke up is write. i'm getting to the actual good stuff, i swear. have to up-play the angst, alright?
> 
> tags are being added now!

Towards eight at night he gets another text with a request to go to the club. For a moment he’s confused, isn’t sure if Dwight means tonight or not, so he waits patiently for any other responses. Dwight texts come in small bursts, never complete sentences, and it seems highly fitting of the nervous man himself. He seems unaware of how to approach this, so Ash gives him time and responds patiently. He’s amused by Dwight’s flighty nature but also impressed that he seems more put together via text than he does in person. Ash supposes it’s easier not to talk face to face for someone so anxious. He’s surprised, however, to see that Dwight is willing to go tonight. 

Dwight’s reasoning is that he has the day off, has slept enough, and is ready to relax in a different atmosphere. Ash knew the atmosphere of the club wasn’t much different from the bar, just louder and with more people tripping on acid, so perhaps it was his company Dwight really wanted. If that were the case, Ash has every right to feel successful. He’s managed to chip Dwight’s defenses away little by little. 

_It’s a date_, he texts back, hopes that Dwight is blushing on the other side. He wonders if Dwight will really take the teasing comment as fact; Ash isn’t sure if he’d want to correct him or not.

In two hours he’s fixed up and looking charming as ever. He’s done his best to try and look equal parts businessman and casual patron. Whether he succeeds, he’s unsure, but he does look great, if he says so himself. Then again, when didn’t he? Looking good is just a constant state of being for him. What he hopes is that Dwight likes it. Immediately after the thought he backtracks because, uh, _what_? Of course Dwight was going to think he looked great, how was that even a question in his mind? Ridiculous.

He’s at the club before Dwight and waits outside for him. The bouncers greet him while he surfs on his phone, looks at emails he probably should have answered hours ago. It’s not time for work tonight. He glances up every now and then to look for the other man; he almost misses him when he rounds the corner. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, he seeks Dwight out and takes a second to admire his outfit. His jeans hug his hips, dark washed denim, and Ash is glad that his comment about checking out his ass didn’t deter him from skin-tight clothes. There’s a button-up underneath his tartan faced sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looks very cute, but Ash is sure he’s said that a hundred times now.

"Well don’t you look nice," he comments instead.

Dwight smiles sheepishly, "Can’t always be wearing my uniform. I’m sure you’re disappointed."

Ash cocks an eyebrow, genuinely pleased by the sarcastic remark. He’s absolutely not disappointed. He turns and settles a hand at the small of Dwight’s back, not missing the way he almost arches out of the way at first. He relaxes after a second or two while Ash leads him to his own personal entrance. It loops past his office and to the private rooms. His fingers splay on the man’s spine and he’s pleased when Dwight moves just a little closer to him. 

"Here we go, Bambi, nice and secluded."

Dwight’s eyes scan the softly lit room. A sofa sits on the wall with a coffee table in front of it. To the right of them is a private bar stocked full of the same things he’d see at work. It smells sweet, like lavender, and he can see Dwight relaxing slowly. He breathes out a quiet sound and takes the initiative to sink into the sofa. The music is muffled, the room being moderately soundproofed, but loud enough to still be heard and not render the room silent. Ash heads to the bar to make himself a drink, thinks about offering Dwight one but he knows the kid won’t take it.

Typically, he’d be in here making out with someone, or doing some drugs, but he realizes that Dwight is just not that kind of person. He really just wants to relax somewhere away from home, or the bar, and it’s very possible that Ash is one of the only people he knows as an outlet. It’s flattering, but also a little sad. 

"—a shot?" 

He just barely hears the tail end of the question and has to blink himself back into reality. "What?"

The man fidgets a little and watches him, sitting up. "I asked if I could do a shot."

"You sure about that, Bambi? Didn’t you tell me you don’t drink anymore?" He can’t read the expression on the other’s face, but he looks away slowly. He’s wringing his fingers and Ash just leans, nonchalantly, against the countertop while he waits. 

"I think it’ll be alright," he says after a moment. "I…I like to think you wouldn’t leave me in the forest if I black out."

Ash laughs and Dwight chuckles; the sound is more intoxicating than any drink he’s ever had. What is _happening_ to him? Clearing his throat, Ash reaches for a shotglass and finds something that won’t be too harsh for Dwight. He goes for coconut rum after asking if he has any allergies and getting a negative. So, Dwight feels comfortable enough to let go of reservations, that’s good. He’s trusted enough to take care of him if he gets drunk, which he most certainly will. Dwight pops the shot back with a shudder, biting his lip after. 

They fall into casual conversation after that and, against himself, Ash finds he’s opening up and sharing more than he should. He’s not drunk, but Dwight is edging there. His cheeks are flushed, words a little heavier, a bit softer; Ash thinks he’s even more cute now. He’s just pleasantly warmed, but he’s also used to doing this every other day. Definitely not good for his body, but he hasn’t been concerned about that in years now. He sits with Dwight who quietly sighs as Ash slings an arm over the back of the couch. 

He leans in as he speaks, "You feeling better now?"

Dwight nods, lips quirked into a bright smile, "I am, thanks. This was actually a good idea."

Ash is pleased to hear that and he crosses his leg casually. The watch on his wrist beeps softly and Ash slides his hand off the sofa to slightly pull up his sleeve to turn it off. Dwight doesn’t ask what the alarm is for and Ash doesn’t tell; he ignores it. There’s another unspoken question as Dwight looks at the black sleeve. Ash knows he wants to ask, so he provides an explanation first. 

"Prosthetic," he starts, gauging Dwight’s reaction. He looks intrigued. "Severe nerve damage from an accident I got into. Couldn’t afford a good prosthetic until I came into money, now I’ve got the best modern medicine can provide." Dwight reaches out, tentatively, to take his hand, a childlike wonder in his eyes. "Works almost as well as the real thing."

He notes that Dwight is closer than he was before, interested in how his BeBionic hand worked, and likely unawares of how close he actually was. Being tipsy will do that to you. He’s just lightly holding Ash’s fingers when he looks up through his lashes, honey colored eyes shy. For once Ash makes no comment, though he wants to. He thinks about how beautiful those eyes would look staring up from between his legs. The moment moves slowly, tension terribly thick between them, until Ash moves. Dwight drops the man’s hand when Ash reaches out to tilt Dwight’s head upwards. Though Dwight is bashful, he doesn’t look away while Ash searches his face.

Dwight’s lashes flutter shut when Ash finally leans in to kiss him. His lips taste like the rum he’d shot back early when Ash licks at them, requesting entry. Dwight hesitates for just a second before he allows it and Ash doesn’t waste any time tasting the inside of his mouth. The sound the man makes is a soft whimper but he presses back and reciprocates. Ash smiles against him, instinctively moving to press Dwight down into the couch. He goes easily, catching Ash’s shirt as they go to steady himself. Immediately Ash has a leg pressed between his. They kiss slowly, Ash absolutely savoring the chance he’s not sure he’ll get again right away. 

When Dwight arches below him, parting his legs wider, Ash’s brain suddenly screeches to a halt. He can’t do this, not while Dwight’s drunk. He can’t give consent while he’s drunk. He doesn’t want to stop, almost can’t bring himself to do it, but he pulls back. Dwight’s breathless, his eyes hazy, and expression curious if not a bit dejected. Ash smiles at him, one more chaste kiss pressed to his lips, before he sits up. He needs to let Dwight know he’s not being rejected.

"Look at that," he mutters, running a thumb over the other’s lower lip. "A hundred percent sex appeal."

Dwight laughs quietly and sits up as well; he seems to realize that they can’t do this now. "You’d be the first to think so."

"I won’t be the last, I’m sure."

They don’t say anything else about stopping short, but Dwight does seem more relaxed than Ash’s ever seen him. He can also see that Dwight is growing drowsy so he absolves to take him home shortly thereafter. How he manages to get Dwight’s address out of him, half-asleep as he was, he didn’t know. However, he manages to fish the man’s keys from his pocket when they make it to his floor of the apartment complex just a few blocks from the bar. It’s two in the morning and the apartment is silent up until he gets Dwight to his room and he hears someone else starting to chastise. He’s like a deer in the headlights when he sees Meg there, red hair in a braid, tank top and short shorts.

She seems livid.

"Uhhhh…" Ash starts, lamely, watching as Dwight flops into bed tiredly. 

"What the_ fuck?_" Meg barks, hands on her hips. "The hell are you doing bringing him home?"

Dwight is the one that speaks, sleepy and slow, "We went to Necronomicon."

Meg looks even more furious, if possible. Ash wants to take his leave, but he keeps his cool. Dwight isn’t even bothering to shed any clothes, only rolls over to his side, arm hanging off the bed. He’s asleep in an instant, leaving Meg and Ash standing there awkwardly. One look from Meg has him leaving the room, her trailing behind him. Dwight’s right, she is pretty scary. He sets Dwight’s keys by the door and is stopped from leaving by the small body that slides between him and the door.

"I thought I told you not to do this bullshit."

He plays dumb. "Do what?"

Meg glares at him, "That fucking thing you do where you mess with people. You don’t really want to get to know him, you want to fuck him." He looks offended for being called out. Truthfully, he’s not so sure what he wants anymore. It started out that way…did something change? Now that Meg is bringing it up, he’s confused. He remains silent, expression serious. "If you hurt him Ash, so fucking help me, I’ll make you wish you’d never met him in the first place." He threat is foreboding. "He’s like family to me, like my brother, and I will make you regret it."

She shifts away from the door, "If you’re not serious about him then leave him alone. Don’t talk to him, don’t come to the bar, just let him be. He’s too sweet for your garbage." She rips the door open then, holds it open wide and Ash slinks out like a dog being caught stealing food. 

Meg leaves him caught between a rock and a hard place. He has to think about what he really wants here and how far he’s willing to go for it. Ash knows that he did something good tonight, he didn’t take advantage when he could have. While that’s never been his style, he can’t deny that Dwight was willing. Though, yes, you can’t be willing if you’re drunk, he gets that; he’s at a loss. Where does he go from here? How does he figure out just the right thing to do? Does he want more from Dwight than just a fling? Can he handle a relationship again? Is it worth it? Is he worth it?

It’s too much for him to try and take in now. He’s going to need to take a while, sit and figure it out, but he has to do that away from Dwight, away from the bar. So, when he gets home, he books a week long vacation a thousand miles away from all those things that are making him confused.


	4. solitary versus social predation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i lied there's gonna be one more chapter but it's coming literally right after i post this and proofread it lmfao. this wound up being like 7k and i didn't want to make chapter 4 as long as the entire first 3 parts combined >> i'm bad at multi-chapters, okay guys pls. 
> 
> again, tags are changing, so please be aware that there is some _attempted sexual assault_ in this chapter!!!

A week on a tropical, sun-drenched island felt like it was all he needed. So much to do and see, so many hot people to meet, but something about it seemed off to him. He hadn’t heard the ping of his phone for anything but work emails and messages after the first day or two where he hadn’t answered anything Dwight sent. Shortly thereafter he temporarily blocked the other’s number, just so he could relax in his self-appointed isolation. He can’t lie and say he didn’t have a good time, of course he did. Drinks by the beach, a huge hotel room to himself, and maybe that was just the problem. Ash, for all his charm and bravado and sex drive, hadn’t taken anyone back to his hotel. He’d flirted, that was just natural, but he’d abstained and that was bizarre. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had his pick, it was just that every time he tried, he couldn’t follow through. It was quite a distressing problem.

He tried to dissect it down to its basic elements. Why couldn’t he bring himself to seal the deal with anyone? Why could he _possibly_ have been so disinterested? Ash thought about taking Dwight out the last time, about pinning him to the couch, and the sweet taste of his lips. He thought hard about why that meant so much, why he could see that in his mind’s eye when anyone tried to get him to take them back to his room. He was too old for this, too old for Dwight, and it just didn’t seem fair. Fair for whom? Either of them, maybe. 

He doesn’t know if he could do that all again, that relationship thing, and he also doesn’t know if Dwight would last with him for that long. He’s not easy to get along with, that he knows. He’s sabotaging himself in a way that should have made it easy. But Dwight is like candy, something cloying and addicting, and all he’d done was kiss him once and he wanted more. It was overwhelmingly frustrating and something he shouldn’t have been thinking about while he was on vacation. He was supposed to have left that shit behind for the duration, but he wound up thinking far too much about it. Getting drunk just didn’t really cut it anymore, because then he was left alone with those thoughts—maybe not physically, but mentally. 

Getting out was supposed to help him figure things out and all it did was make it worse. 

When he gets back into the city, grudgingly, he has work to do. Ash purposefully avoids the bar and the café he’d seen Dwight in. He does his best to fully ignore the nagging feeling in his gut, that want to go see just what the kid had been doing the whole time. See if he was upset that Ash didn’t get in touch with him. Instead, he takes another week to throw himself into literally anything else. He does the business thing, he invests more, he goes golfing—and he fucking hates golf—with rich innovative company owners. He also does a bit more charity work, donations to various organizations, and in the back of his mind he knows Dwight would likely have been a bleeding heart about it. 

Then he realizes that if he could get Dwight out of his thoughts for two seconds that would be absolutely_ fantastic_.

Maybe if he could just see the kid’s face it’d help him really figure this out; maybe it will convince him that he’s been trying so hard for a reason. A real reason. He’s been ignoring coming to grips with that so perhaps when faced with the very root of his troubles he’ll be able to finish rationalizing. But he puts it off until he thinks it’s the right time, a week after he gets home; two weeks and he’s done trying to figure this out alone. 

It’s about two in the morning when he heads out to the bar from Necronomicon. Being at his club hadn’t really helped him any, so it’s time to bolster himself and face his fears. To even suggest the word fear in regards to Ash Williams makes him retch. Those did not go together in any way. The bar should be closing up about now, things should be cleaned and cleared, and he knew Dwight was working tonight. Parking in front he waits a moment in the car, watches just vague movement from the little bit of light he can see through the shadowed windows. He almost doesn’t go in, but he’s never been a coward—alright he has been a coward, but he’s determined now. The front door is unlocked, which should have been the first sign something was wrong. 

He stops short as the door lightly closes behind him because there’s Dwight being pressed up against the bar and clearly hating it. The man that’s pinning him there is broad, undoubtedly stronger than Dwight, and at least five inches taller than him. He’s holding Dwight’s wrists against the metal and has a leg in between his own that he’s forcing Dwight to bear down on. The man looks pale and upset as he struggles to free himself. Ash just barely hears what the other guy says but it’s Dwight’s desperate little plea for him to stop that gets under Ash’s skin.

"Been nice to you all week," the man slurs, Ash can hear it as he quietly rounds a table in the relative darkness. Neither of them have noticed him yet. "Not gonna give me nothin’ for it?"

That’s when it hits him; he’d been trying to get on Dwight’s good side for the same reason. He’d played that 'nice guy' act just so he could get something out of the brunette. Did he sound like this? Was it clear that this was all he’d been aiming for? Meg saw it, did Dwight? If so, had he given Ash his time despite that? The clear difference was that Dwight had come to enjoy his flirting, his compliments, had liked it enough to make out with him; he just looks scared now. Dwight can’t even push him away, he’s closing his eyes and cowering, tilting his face away. 

Ash moves quickly to catch the man’s attention. "That’s considered assault, you know."

Both Dwight and the other guy turn their heads to look at him—Dwight’s eyes light up, a neon sign above his head blinking a steady _help me_. He struggles, tries to tug his way free, but the man only pushes himself harder against the other’s body. "The fuck are you?"

"I’m the guy that’s gonna give you three seconds to get off him before I make you."

He scoffs loudly, is still for a moment, before the man is pulling off Dwight and swinging. Ash just manages to tilt backwards, the punch wild, and the man stumbles. Dwight is quick to scramble away to a safe distance, clutching his hands to his chest and wringing his fingers in that way Ash likes; decidedly less so, since the reason for it is actual fear. Another swing thrown his way and Ash blocks it with one arm and retaliates with a left hook that makes the man crumble. He has blood on his knuckles, a terrible stinging pain that he ignores in favor of grabbing the man’s collar and hoisting him to his feet. 

"Time to leave now," he chirps as he drags the man, stumbling as he is, to the door. He drops, unceremoniously, to the cement and Ash closes the door, flipping the top lock immediately thereafter. He lets out a slow breath, eyes cast at the ceiling, before he spins around to assess Dwight’s state of mind.

He’s standing there, still tense, and Ash can see the slightly wild look to his eyes. His hands are shaking, his skin looks washed out. Dwight hasn’t said anything yet and Ash is concerned until he figures it out. He’s having a panic attack, that’s what that is. He’s never had them, doesn’t really know how to handle one, but he is slow as he approaches, just barely filling Dwight’s personal space. He reaches out carefully to catch the man’s hands and untangle them. Dwight sucks in a gulp of air. Ash uses his grip to lightly pull Dwight into him, lips brushing the back of the man’s knuckles. The situation is not ideal, but he feels, what is that, relief? More than that, he’s glad to see Dwight, just as he thought he might be. He’s no longer frustrated by the idea. He presses a light kiss to trembling fingers. 

"Are you alright?" He asks softly. When he doesn’t get an answer, just a series of shallow breaths, Ash realizes that he’s going to hyperventilate. He’s not going to cry, which is a relief, but Ash still isn’t sure what to do. He does the only thing he can and that’s draw Dwight closer, fingers lightly raking through his hair. "You’re okay, just breathe slow. I’ve got you."

He can feel Dwight’s breath evening out while he stands there rubbing a soothing circle into his back. It’s been a long time since he’s felt like doting, since he’s felt affectionate, and he thinks it’s amazing that Dwight’s brought that out in him without even trying. Coming here tonight was definitely the right choice and he’s very glad he did because that could have ended badly. He thinks Dwight must know that too. 

Ash is careful with him, slow when he moves away enough to look at the other’s face. Dwight still hasn’t said anything but they both know that if he hadn’t shown up there was no telling what could have happened. No words are needed for that. Dwight remains in Ash’s personal space, staring up at him in such a way that makes Ash think he wants something. Needs something. The face of a man that really wants to be assured and Ash does that the only way his brain provides—he dips down to press a light kiss to Dwight’s lips. Dwight doesn’t resist, he doesn’t pull away, just tips his head and loosens up.

"Come on, let’s take you home." He says after they part, a bit reluctantly at that.

Dwight stops him, a hand on his sleeve when he goes to turn around. He stares down at it, like even he’s confused as to why he did it, then sucks in a breath. "Your place," he says and it’s strangely definitive, like he’s not going to take no for an answer. "M-Meg isn’t home, she’s at her girlfriend’s for the night…I don’t—"

Ash cuts him off, slides an arm around his waist and directs him to the door. "Are you propositioning me? That’s inappropriate."

The brunette clucks his tongue and looks away but Ash can see that he’s blushing. Wait, was he? He’d meant it as a joke but was Dwight _actually_ trying to use this as an excuse? He’s never known Dwight to be insincere, he has a hard time lying, but Ash can see why that would be a hard thing to suggest. Dwight can’t even look at him when they’re in the car on the way to his penthouse, or when they’re in the elevator on the way up. Granted, he’s pretty sure Dwight’s too busy being awed by the lavish nature of it, but Ash still wants the man to look at him.

Once inside, Dwight peers around. Ash is sure the place really doesn’t look like it suits a man like him, even he sometimes feels like it’s too neat and too open. He has a housekeeper that comes around and makes sure to clean up his mess which mostly consists of dirty sheets and clothes thrown all over. Ash is glad that it’s clean right now, he doesn’t really want to make that kind of impression. That thought leaves him wondering: when has he ever cared about that before? Maybe back when he met his ex and he was trying to impress her, be good enough for her. And maybe that’s it, he wants to be good enough for Dwight.

"H-how…" Dwight starts, looking uncomfortable and not knowing what to do with himself. "How was your vacation?"

Ash feels a stab of guilt through his chest and he flinches. He doesn’t know the best response here and normally he’d be cavalier about it but he’d gone to see Dwight in the first place so that he could rationalize his feelings. Yes, he did feel better now that he saw him and that obviously meant _something_. He’s still hesitant to give it a name, but it was something. He’s doesn’t say anything for a few seconds before, rubbing his hand on the back of his head sheepishly. "It was, uh, lonely. Thought about how I should have brought you with me."

Dwight is very silent for a moment, a look passing over his face that can only be described as somber. He doesn’t answer, not right away, and the tension is palpable, thick. When he does speak again, Ash does not expect how much the words affect him.

"Why, so you could finally get me into bed?"

It’s like being punched in the gut—Ash would know, he’s been hit plenty of times in his life. This time he grimaces and it’s noticeable, Dwight’s eyes travel to him and stay there, unmoving. He doesn’t really know how to answer, so this time he looks away, just a quiet _uh_ under his breath while he sorts the words out. Maybe he should have known better, that Dwight wasn’t stupid, that he’d be able to figure it out eventually. Especially considering it seemed like he was in a similar situation with the asshole at the bar. Ash is forced to realize how many times he’s played the Nice Guy; it’s backfired this time. Worse yet, he doesn’t want to lose Dwight to this. There’s an apology on his lips but it hangs there.

Dwight cocks his head. "Did you really think I was that naive? I knew what you were doing after the first time I heard about your reputation." Ash hangs his head and looks at his feet; leave it to Dwight to make him ashamed of himself. He doesn’t really know what to say or how to convey that it wasn’t like that anymore. That his two weeks away were meant to help him sort himself out. "It was shitty but I…went along with it anyway. Even knowing what you wanted, I still…"

Ash hadn’t expected that. If Dwight had known what he was doing the whole time, why keep up the charade? Why put himself in that position? He’s even more confused now than he was before. 

"I’m real bad at this feelings thing, Bambi. I ghosted because I thought it’d help me get a grip."

"Did it?" He asks and Ash falters.

"Not really, no. Seeing your face again helps." He grins in that charming manner of his and Dwight is bashful in the way he lowers his head a moment. "If you knew what I was doing, why did you let it happen for so long?"

This time it’s Dwight’s turn to flinch. Obviously he hadn’t wanted to be asked that question and Ash watches as he wrings his fingers nervously. He wants to reach out and stop him from doing it, hold his hands so he can’t, but he doesn’t think he’s earned that. 

"I liked the attention," he starts, and then, softer, "I liked _you_."

Ash probably shouldn’t be surprised. He’s seen it coming, could tell that Dwight was forming an attachment, but somehow he still didn’t expect it to be said so boldly. Of course he knows he shouldn’t feel smug and he definitely shouldn’t be cheeky but, well, he knows no other way to be. 

"Liked? Past tense?"

Dwight huffs and pouts, honey colored eyes directed towards his left in indigence. Ash can’t help but note he looks like an annoyed animal, something soft and cuddly that’s trying to look menacing. "Like. Present tense."

He wonders if that’s a sign, if he’s allowed to want to touch him yet. He moves in carefully, reaching out for the other’s hands like he’d wanted to do earlier. Dwight doesn’t move away, does the opposite; he steps in, even though his eyes are still averted. He can’t guarantee Dwight isn’t making a terrible choice, and he can’t guarantee he won’t break the kid’s heart eventually. He’s been so unlucky in meaningful relationships that Ash isn’t sure if he should try again, but if Dwight wants it, who is he to deny him? He already knew he hadn’t wanted to go long without seeing him, that he had some kind of magnetic pull that Ash found he was incredibly powerless to resist. 

"Also…I was, uh, I _was_ propositioning you."

That floors him. Ash thinks he’s actually died because he freezes altogether and holds his breath for a long second. He did not just hear that straight from Dwight’s mouth, did he? That had to be an auditory hallucination because there was no way. He isn’t able to form words for a full minute and Dwight laughs at him, brows arched and his eyes, fuck his innocent little gaze, is poised on him expectantly.   
  
"Don’t tell me you worked so hard and you don’t want me anymore?" Dwight asks, something like disappointment in his tone though he’s trying to be teasing.

Ash abandons his hands to instead slide his arms around the other’s waist, dragging him as close as they could get. He leans in to press about a dozen kisses to Dwight’s lips, savors the way Dwight pushes back into each one. The last kiss is heated, Dwight’s mouth warm and sweet, and Dwight moans into it like it’s saving his life. Ash licks his lips when they pull back, steadily focused on the way Dwight seems breathless. He feels vulnerable and laid bare, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

"I want you more now than I did before."


	5. and in the end, capture is inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright fam here's your porn L O L i have literally not gone to sleep and it's 11.30am and i might die. also sad day, i am done with ash/dwight content for now and i'm going to be doing some other things with my boy dwight <s>can you see my dwight bias???</s>. eventually. because i'm dying from writing so much. LOVE YOU GUYS <3

Dwight doesn’t answer, only demands another kiss, which Ash gives freely. He’s still in that button-up with the vest on top from work, pink shirt tucked into dark pants, and Ash is shameless in the way he immediately starts rucking it up in order to get his hands underneath. Dwight gives no sign he doesn’t want it, in fact, he presses himself fully against Ash, fingers working at undoing the button on the sleek pinstripe jacket. When he touches Dwight’s skin, the man shivers, and Ash hums in the back of his throat. 

Where normally Ash would make some kind of comment, something flirtatious and coy, he doesn’t. He lets his fingers and mouth do the talking instead. Hands moving to Dwight’s sides, he immediately takes his hips and moves Dwight against him, nudging his legs apart with one of his own. The man moans again, hot into his mouth, and Ash drops his hands down to the back of his thighs just underneath the swell of his ass so that he can drag Dwight against his leg. There’s a stutter in his breath, fingers that had been going to undo the buttons of his dress shirt were stilling. Ash affects to kiss his way from lips to jaw to neck where he stops, sucking a mark higher than the collar on any shirt Dwight might wear. 

By the time Ash is done leaving hickeys on his neck, he’s shuddering, breath coming out in short pants and little whines, hips moving entirely on their own. The dark red and purple trail on Dwight’s pale skin is enough to flare that small, possessive side in him, and he wants to leave those marks everywhere else. They stand out perfectly, splashes of color on a light backdrop. He refrains, however, and instead starts to get Dwight out of his shirt. Dwight’s thrown off by the lack of contact when Ash pulls away, but he quickly catches up and helps. They’re achingly far from Ash’s room and he has to stop them, momentarily, so he can get them there. 

Dwight’s shirt is mostly open, vest hanging loosely, and Ash’s jacket was discarded somewhere in the main room. The second they’re in the bedroom, spacious and open, Ash is grabbing his hips again and leading him back towards the nearly too-big bed. He idly recalls earlier thoughts about how good Dwight would look splayed across the crimson of his sheets and, when he urges Dwight atop the mattress, he can confirm. He looks a hundred percent like a piece of Renaissance artwork brought to life.

Shirt and vest pushed aside, Dwight lays out underneath him when Ash gets a knee on the bed. Dwight goes back to getting Ash out of his shirt and for one brief moment he almost doesn’t want him to. He’s in his late-fifties and not so much of a catch anymore; he’s good for a one-night off kind of thing but not much else. When he looks at Dwight he sees someone young and vibrant, all soft edges and toned muscles. He’s slender and lithe, especially as he arches himself into Ash and the man can see sleek muscles cord under his skin. Ash can’t really compare. He used to be in good shape in his youth, muscles put on from days of playing sports in high school and college. These days he’s softer around his midsection, has maintained some amount of muscle, but definitely isn’t the same. Doesn’t really measure up.

But he’s finding it harder and harder to try and deny Dwight anything, so he puts aside that strange unease and allows Dwight to push his dress shirt off his shoulders. Nimble fingers follow, tracing down and dipping to his collarbones before sliding down his arms where they brace him up on the bed. He looks down at the prosthetic, intrigued once more, and Ash can tell he’s wondering how it works. He wishes that it were able to vibrate, he could add something exciting to the mix, but as it stands it’s just very good at reading what he needs it to do. Like now, where he holds Dwight’s hips enough to get himself situated between the other’s legs. Dwight opens up for him easily.

The belt on the brunette’s pants clinks as he works it open, mouth back on Dwight’s. He gets hid slacks open just enough to shimmy them down, one hand lightly tugging the waistband of the shorts underneath. He can feel just a minute hesitation in Dwight when he tightens his legs, knees turning in to press into Ash’s sides. He pauses then, waits a moment until Dwight settles, before he’s peeling those down as well. It’s easy to see Dwight is feeling embarrassed and Ash digs deep into his verbal repertoire for a way to ease him.

"Look at how fucking perfect you are," he muses, watches Dwight’s shy, innocent expression. It’s not hard to tell Dwight doesn’t agree. Well, Ash can give him something to focus on other than his terrible self-esteem. 

Teasingly, his fingers slide along Dwight’s cock, to which the other man’s reaction is immediate and intense. He lets out a sharp sound, back arching. He’s so sensitive and it is goddamn delicious. Ash chuckles warmly and takes Dwight in his hand, giving a few slow, cursory strokes. As expected, Dwight moans through it, hips moving likely without his permission as he grinds upwards. He wants to shower him in compliments if they all garner similar visceral reactions. For a moment, he watches Dwight closely as he moves his hand languidly. Dwight’s already dripping, his pre-cum making it easier for Ash to work up to an even pace. Dwight can’t seem to look at him while he does this. His eyes are shut, lips parted and face flushed; he turns his head and bunches his shoulders as he rolls his hips to match the other’s pace. He should have realized that Dwight would be super shy about it and that’s fine, Ash just hopes that he’ll look at him at some point while they did this.

For the first time in a long time, Ash is completely ignoring his own needs. He’s so intently focused on every little flicker of pleasure across Dwight’s face, all the small noises he makes, and the blush that’s crept to the tips of his ears by now. Truthfully, Ash wants to watch Dwight shudder through an orgasm, desperately wants to see if he’ll moan his name, but he doesn’t want to have to wait. Not to mention, he doesn’t want to overwhelm Dwight. He also has to move away to get condoms and lube from the bedside table; he’s loath to do it. Ash hums softly, getting a bit too lost in wringing out reactions from Dwight, that he almost misses the way the brunette starts whimpering. He catches himself quickly, slowing to a stop, and withdrawing his hand. This time the sound Dwight makes is near pained, eyes hazy when he blinks them open to stare at Ash. He looks as dazed out as he did when they were making out on the couch, except this time he’s not drunk. 

Ash gives him a few, lazy kisses before he sits up and slides off the bed. Dwight doesn’t ask where he’s going, just watches him carefully; he drags Dwight’s pants down before he heads to the side of the bed. The bartender finishes kicking them off, moving up on the mattress a little farther. Dwight is modest and insecure, doing his best to try and look good but not knowing how. Ash thought he’d cleared that up already, that he thinks Dwight looks absolutely perfect, so he figures he’ll have to keep laying it on thick if he wants the point to come across. Tossing both things on the bed, he climbs back on to settle back into place between Dwight’s legs. The other man shrinks a little, flustered by the scrutiny of Ash’s gaze, but he’s flawless. From the curve of his shoulders and hint of his collarbones to the softness of his stomach and down to the sharp angles of his hipbones.

Reaching out, he hooks his hands under Dwight’s knees and draws him in closer. They shift to the inside of his thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles into his skin while he looks at him—maybe he’s a bit awestruck, he’s not sure, but Dwight is lifting his glasses so he can cover his face a bit. Ash laughs and carefully plucks them up, tossing them onto the pillows they’re not using. He doesn’t move Dwight’s hands, not until he’s got the lube popped open and fingers coated, then Dwight moves them himself with a gasp. While Ash would have warmed the sticky liquid with his hands a moment, he did want that shock factor, if only to try and loosen Dwight up some more. Without his glasses Dwight looks younger, he hopes that if Dwight can’t really see him very well, he won’t overthink things too much.

"Hey, relax," he coos. Ash watches Dwight suck in a breath while he spreads enough lube to make it as easy as possible for him. The other’s legs are carefully propped over his own and Ash leans over a bit so he can have better access and put Dwight into an easier position. This isn’t really the best position to do this in, but he doesn’t think Dwight would have as good a time on his knees. Besides, that seemed more like a second round kind of thing. In reality, he just wants to watch Dwight enjoy it. For a moment he does nothing but tease, fingers circling, but when he starts the slow press inside, Dwight’s breath hitches. 

"You done this before?" He asks, hopes that it’ll distract him enough so that he’s not hyperfocusing on what’s going on.

Dwight hums softly, "Uhm, yeah, few times. Not, uh, not since college though s-so about five years?"

Ash is taken aback, he didn’t even know Dwight went to college. It’s then that he realizes he doesn’t know much about him at all and he feels guilty for a moment. It’s fine, he surmises, because he can get to know him now. Wants to, even. His finger is gently crooking inside him and Ash notes he’s so impossibly tight and so terribly hot, he can’t wait to feel him. Once he’s worked enough, he presses another alongside the first and continues the conversation.

"What did you major in?"

"Cr-creative writing," he stutters and Ash thinks he must be feeling it now if the way he rolls his hips is any indication.

His other hand slides up Dwight’s side and he’s so upset he can’t feel him with his prosthetic. He makes it about Dwight instead, carefully thumbing a nipple while he works on easing him open. Dwight lets out a small sound and his lashes flutter. Addicting. Curling his fingers again, he rubs softly against the man’s prostate, hoping to garner some kind of reaction; maybe not immediate, it never is, but the more he works it the better it will feel. So he thrusts his fingers at a steady pace, leaning over to spread more nips to Dwight’s neck, kissing him briefly and swallowing the moan he makes. As much as Ash would really love to break Dwight apart with his fingers, to draw out foreplay until he’s crying for it, he doesn’t really have the patience. He simply cannot wait that long.

"Creative writing, huh? That’s cute, fitting."

Dwight moans lowly, back arching, "Is…now really the time to be t-talking about this?"

He snickers and presses up hard, Dwight gasps sharply. "It got you to relax, didn’t it?"

The man gives an annoyed _tsk_ and pins Ash with a heated look. He just grins in return. Dwight’s silence says all it needs to and that was that he was correct, it is distracting. Plus, now he’s feeling it, which makes it even better. Ash realizes he hasn’t even opened his pants and he can’t do so yet. He wants to idle, but reluctantly slides his fingers free, watching Dwight brush his hair back from his eyes. Without concern, he reaches for the condom with sticky fingers before realizing he’s having a hard time trying to open the foil. Dwight laughs breathlessly and takes it from him, using his teeth to tear into it. He hands it back and licks his lips when he sees Ash is just staring at him. They really gotta talk about this whole 'zero sex appeal' thing because that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen Dwight do.

Dwight’s eyes drift to Ash’s pants and he props himself up so he can unbutton them for him. Ash doesn’t realize how hard he is until the other man is working the expensive garment down just enough, he seems unperturbed that Ash is still half-clothed and he’s naked, only bites his lip and looks up at Ash through his lashes. So he makes a show out of slowly rolling the condom down, humming out a low sound when he finally touches himself because, fuck, it almost hurts. He can see Dwight wants to touch him but doesn’t say anything about it; he’ll let him touch to his heart’s content later. Right now he has a sneaking suspicion that Dwight also doesn’t want to wait. 

As he coats himself liberally with lube, watching it drip down to his sheets, he looks up towards the pillows. Dwight’s gaze follows and he grabs one without being told, lifting his hips so Ash can slide it underneath him. Ash absolutely had wedge around here somewhere that would have made this perfect, but he couldn’t take the time to look for it. He made a note to find it later. For now, he adjusts Dwight, one hand carefully pushing up his thigh, the other slowly guiding himself. The hardest part—haha, funny—is that first initial press, and he does so slowly, watching both Dwight’s face and what he’s doing. Dwight doesn’t flinch, just makes a clipped noise when Ash’s cock finally slides in, and he’s glad that they used a ridiculous amount of lube because it’s almost effortless. Some resistance, as to be expected, but he manages to hilt himself easily. Dwight rests a hand on his stomach, as though he can feel it, and Ash is flattered. Granted, he knows he’s not small by any means, would be considered above average if he does say so himself, but he knew that feeling. He feels full.

Biting his lip at the corner, Dwight breathes out a curt sound, seeking out Ash’s hands where they land on his hips. All it takes is a hand brushing through his hair to calm him and he tips into it when Ash cups his face. A kiss is placed on his palm when Dwight turns his head, breathing warm against his skin. Ash is, for lack of a better term, enamored. It’s been a long time since there’s been any kind of romance in his life; that’s what this was, right? This is something intimate and soft and he knows he doesn’t want to throw Dwight away when they’re done. He wants to keep this nervous little thing for himself, take care of him because it seems like someone needs to. (And briefly he thinks he may be wandering too far into Daddy territory and the idea does not faze him in the slightest, he cannot speak for Dwight.)

From the look he’s getting, Dwight is pleased; like a cat laying in the morning sun. Ash grinds slightly, trying to get Dwight used to it, and the other man just moans through it, brows furrowed. He was right in thinking that he’d feel good around him, his body clinging to Ash like his life depended on it. Every small movement makes Dwight shudder and he’s the one that urges Ash to move finally. He’s slow as he drags out and slides back in, almost torturous in the way he does it. He doesn’t want to hurt Dwight, of course, and his body isn’t entirely used to the intrusion yet. But, sensitive as Dwight is, he’s arching into it, the sweetest sound from his lips that Ash wants to drink up. He starts an easy pace, nice rolls of his hips that have him fucking Dwight long and slow; admittedly he’s also savoring how Dwight looks splayed out and the feeling of heat that threatens to overwhelm him. 

When the monotony settles in is when Ash adjusts himself. He moves a bit closer, forces Dwight’s legs a little higher, and the brunette is taken aback for a second. The next few thrusts he delivers are hard and fast making Dwight keen underneath him, his hands coming up to grip Ash’s shoulders. He’s louder now, moans reaching such a pretty crescendo. As much as Ash doesn’t want it to be over, he thinks about how many times they can do this in the future, and how many more sounds he can wring from him. Ash leans over dropping to his forearms instead, moving with Dwight as he’s rocked with every thrust. He’s muttering now, broken things that don’t make sense as a whole but sound great in his dulcet little tone. 

Ash wants to rattle him apart now, wants to see how he cracks and crumbles, needs to see if he’ll tear up and beg for release. A little mean, maybe, but he thinks Dwight will get desperate enough to do it. Dwight threads his fingers into Ash’s hair suddenly, bringing him down into a messy kiss that he mewls into. Watching his body move is hypnotic, the way he undulates and goes with the flow effortlessly. Dwight tries to writhe up into him, Ash assumes to get some friction, perhaps Ash has found the perfect spot inside him, hopes he’s grinding into it relentlessly. He can feel Dwight tightening so he must be doing something good for him. He nips at Dwight’s lip and nearly misses when he wriggles a hand between them.

When he takes both of Dwight’s hands and brings them above his head, Dwight protests with a whine. His eyes are glassy, maybe with unshed tears, Ash doesn’t know, but he can barely form words. He attempts, only gets Ash’s name out because he hasn’t stopped fucking him, keeps snapping his hips in a way that has Dwight melting around him. Ash kisses the corner of his mouth, moves to his jaw where he sucks briefly, then he gently presses his forehead to Dwight’s and watches him. 

"How’s it feel?" He asks, groans against Dwight’s mouth. He captures the words that bubble forth in a reverent litany.

"Good," Dwight purrs in between sharp gasps and pants. "S-so good, _please._"

And there it is, the moment Ash has been waiting for; it’s better than he could have imagined. Dwight’s riding a fine line and he wants to touch himself but Ash wants to do it for him. He shuffles both wrists, held down under his prosthetic, and lets his fingers travel down Dwight’s side. He shudders and arches, but Ash settles his hand on his hip instead, grazing dangerously close to where Dwight wants to be touched, but not quite there yet. 

He kisses him again, light and chaste, "What do you want? Tell me, Dwight."

Suddenly Dwight is tensing, his eyes cracking open to stare at Ash, pupils blown wide. He’s never called Dwight by his name before, so it makes the moment more powerful. He smiles down at him, perhaps a bit cocky, but there is no hesitation in Dwight when he answers.

"To cum," he breathes. "_Please_, Ash."

So sue him, he’s just as much of a sucker for hearing his name from Dwight’s lips. He lets out a little huff of laughter at the absurdity of it and obliges; he is not gentle or easy, he strokes Dwight fast and hard to match the pace of his thrusts which are now growing erratic. He needs to see Dwight cum before him, is sure that’ll tip him over, possibly into another dimension if it’s as good as he envisions in his head. Like everything else, watching Dwight cum is far better than he’s fantasized. Some well timed thrusts and jerks of his wrist, and Dwight is freezing, nearly forgetting to breathe.

Moans pitched higher, when he releases Dwight’s wrists, his hands go immediately for Ash’s shoulders again. Blunt nails dig into him while he trembles, knees locking Ash between them. Ash’s name is dripping from his lips, strangled out by a choked cry. His flushed face, hair a mess, he’s red down to his collarbones—it’s his expression that does it, brows drawn, lips red from how he’s been biting them, he looks flawless. A little voice in his head tells him he wants to see this every day for the rest of his life. Dwight spills hot between them, over his fingers and onto his own stomach. Ash doesn’t have a whole lot left in him, so when Dwight settles to a panting heap, he chases his own orgasm.

He cums only a few seconds later, burying himself completely, grinding into Dwight’s oversensitive body. All Dwight does in turn is moan weakly against his mouth, searching for another kiss that Ash gives him tiredly. In a way, he’s disappointed that he had to wear a condom, but it doesn’t really change anything; just a possessive notion that he’d like to see Dwight marked by his release. While Dwight trembles with aftershocks, Ash breathes hot and wet against his lips, mutters his name so quietly that he’s not sure if Dwight hears it. He does, however, because he’s echoing with Ash’s name. It’s a moment almost too intimate to break, so he remains there, sharing breathing room, until he needs to pull out and tie off the condom. It’s too bad for refractory periods, because damn would he like to stay there like that all night.

Sitting back, he peers down at Dwight, something in his chest tight and warm because, and he can’t stress this enough, he looks so fucking good. Dwight runs a hand over his face and back through his hair, pushing it from his eyes. He looks tired and Ash knows he should probably make him shower, but he doesn’t think Dwight can actually get up. From a highly stressful situation at work to a physically stressful one now, no doubt he wants to sleep. He leaves Dwight lazily laying in bed while he gets something to at least wipe his stomach, and when he gets back Dwight has his arms thrown over his face, asleep.

Attempting to rearrange him proves to be difficult because Dwight is almost dead weight and barely coherent, and Ash feels responsible for that. He works hard at that shitty bartending job that’s not right for him, plus he had to deal with both that annoying guy and, well, this annoying guy. He’s a bit of a saint, isn’t he? With Dwight settled, he brushes back dark brown hair and observes the freckles on his nose and cheeks again, as well as the dark purple marks he’s left with his mouth until he also drifts off to sleep to the sound of Dwight's breathing. 

For the first time he lets someone stay the night, finds Dwight is wrapped around him in the morning while the sun streams in through the blinds he forgot to close. He remains in bed, watching Dwight and the news droning on TV until the man beside him stirs. Light brown eyes come into focus as he shifts and looks up at Ash; he looks…surprised? 

"What did we…do last night?"

Ash blinks at him a few times, something cold settling in his gut. "Wh-what do you mean? You don’t remember?"

Dwight shakes his head and Ash feels mortified. At least until Dwight cracks a smile and laughs in a way that sounds positively mischievous. Ash frowns at him.

"I’m kidding, oh my God," he chirps, sitting up and folding his legs. The blanket settles in his lap but Ash can see his hips and the small red marks his fingers left behind. "That was for being an asshole."

Alright, he did kind of deserve that one because he was pretty shitty. Clearly he knows right from wrong but there had been a really fine line between them when it came to sex. Consent? Always important, but definitely nothing wrong with a one-night-stand, and that’s initially what he’d wanted from Dwight. He would have gotten it too, by Dwight’s own admission he was willing to do it, and that made him feel bad. Leave it to this charming little shit to give him a conscience now. Okay, he’s always had a conscience, just nothing to really show for it. This was repentance, maybe, or reformation he’s not sure he was never interested in religion. Regardless, he likes how Dwight looks in the morning, tousled and sleepy, and wants to suggest that he stay here forever. He doesn’t know how to do it.

"Yeah, I deserved that."

Dwight sits back a little, looks for his glasses and finds them on the bedside table. He leans over in a way that stretches out his torso and Ash watches like a lion watching prey. With his glasses back on his face, Dwight sits in relative silence a moment, looking out the window. Finally he directs his gaze to Ash and the man is rendered speechless at the way Dwight looks bathed in sunlight. His eyes seem to glow.

"So, I was thinking," he begins and Ash crosses his arms, tilting his head. "Do you have any job openings?"

Ash’s brows furrow, expression curious, "I, well yeah, probably? I own a lot of companies and property around here, what were you thinking?"

Dwight taps a finger to his lips, "I was thinking something more personal."

"Uh, alright?" Ash has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s willing to humor him.

"Say, maybe like, boyfriend? Got any openings in that department?"

Ash can’t stop the snort he gives or the laugh that follows. Dwight smiles, pleased with himself obviously. Two could play at this game, and boy, did Ash like games. "That depends, I’d have to see your resume."

Dwight flourishes, indicates himself from top to bottom with his hand, "I thought I gave you that last night?"

"Wow, that’s cheeky." Ash chuckles as Dwight moves in, sitting on his knees now. He leans in to steal a kiss. "I think maybe I have a spot, you’ve got some real competition though. I know this really cute, incredibly sexy little thing, he’s on the top of my list."

The brunette feigns a pout, "Is he cuter than me?"

"No one’s cuter than you, Bambi."

Dwight preens for a moment, no longer flustered by the compliment. He gathers the blanket up, twists in it slightly, and crawls his way onto Ash. He lays on his stomach and crosses his arms, folds them on Ash’s chest and rests his chin atop them. Ash looks down at him, brushes a hand through his hair affectionately, and Dwight closes his eyes in contentment. "I like it when you call me that, but I liked hearing you say my name."

"Is that so?" He muses as he brushes his thumb along a full lower lip and gets a low hum in response. Urging Dwight to move in, he presses leisurely kisses to his lips, arms curling around bite-marked shoulders. "Good morning, Dwight."

Dwight looks nothing short of overjoyed, smiling softly, his voice is warm and so full of adoration Ash thinks he might drown in it. "Good morning, Ash."


End file.
